The Wandmaker's Apprentice
by The Lady Rogue
Summary: Harry wants to become the Wandmaker's Apprentice. Ollivander sets him three quests to prove himself first.


After the war Harry went back to school and got his NEWTs. It turned out that he rather liked studying when he wasn't in constant fear for his life, so he graduated with excellent grades and a smile.

Kingsley tried to fast track him into the Auror program, but Harry had realised, on one of those many nights in a tent that was cold and lonely, that while catching bad guys was the only thing he'd known, it wasn't the only thing he wanted to know. Instead, he spent a year travelling. He felt he'd earned it. Hermione was proud of him and Ron was a bit jealous, but that was nothing new. He returned, after, unsurprisingly, getting himself into several sticky situations, and out of them again, and had wondered aloud to Kingsley if all of his misfortunes were a subtle attempt at getting him to join the DMLE. Kingsley denied it, and Harry believed him, but he rather regretted giving the man the idea after the glint that appeared in his eye.

He didn't want to work for the Ministry, but he also didn't want to live off his inheritance and laze about. The problem was that Harry didn't know what to do with himself, despite the many avenues of employment he'd tried, from curse breaking to Quidditch to teaching, he was stuck in a rut, listless and between jobs.

He was wandering down Diagon Alley, trying to decide what to do next with his life, when he saw a sign in Ollivander's window asking for an assistant. He shrugged, and walked in. Ollivander appeared from the shadows.

"Mr Potter... I wasn't expecting to see you today. Back from your travels hmm? Well it's not your wands, they're fine, the both of them." Harry gave him a sharp look. He'd kept the elder wand, but told everyone it was snapped, and back in Dumbledore's tomb.

"Oh, not to worry my boy, I'll keep your secret." Ollivander tapped the side of his nose, a twinkle in his eye that reminded Harry far too much of Dumbledore, to put him at ease.

"Actually, I saw your notice and thought I might apply to become your apprentice," Harry said. Ollivander froze, then began to laugh. Harry felt that the laughter was rather rude, considering how long it continued, but Harry had dealt with far worse things in his life, and so he just stood there, and waited. Eventually Ollivander calmed.

"Is that a yes?" Harry asked quietly. Ollivander twinkled at him, a smile hidden in the corner of his lips.

"I'll say yes the day you build the best broom on the market."

Harry blinked. "Okay," he said. Ollivander narrowed his eyes then chuckled.

"Well my boy, I always knew you were a curious one. Hmm. Yes, well, perhaps that'll do," Ollivander muttered to himself. He shuffled close and patted Harry's cheek.

"You must not tell anyone what I've asked of you. Make it. Sell it. Prove to me your skills at woodwork."

Harry nodded, determined to prove himself. "Thank you," he said, and left the shop.

Five and a half years later he entered Ollivander's shop, broom in one hand, Quidditch Quarterly in the other. That particular issue proclaimed the excellence of Harry's Lightning Bolt broom; the best on the market.

"For you, Master Ollivander," Harry said, placing them both on the desk. Ollivander gazed at him, ignoring them entirely.

"You're back then," he mumbled, and laughed manically, just as he had five and a half years ago, before fixing him with a piercing gaze.

"Very well. Next you must persuade a dying dragon to give you its heart, befriend a herd of unicorns and find and raise a phoenix from the ashes of Mt Fia."

Harry frowned, but could see the logic behind the requests. He nodded.

"Thank you," he said, and left the shop.

Seven years later Harry returned. A phoenix perched on his shoulder, and he presented Ollivander with a dragon's heart. He also withdrew a single unicorn hair.

"Esotoli bequeaths this to you freely," he said gesturing to the hair. "And Keezheekoni was happy for part of himself to live on." Ollivander didn't even say a word before he began laughing once again.

"Marvellous. Quite marvellous," he chortled eventually. "You are one of a kind, Mr Potter." Harry smiled in thanks, although he didn't quite understand.

"You've been busy, these last few years. Travelling, getting into adventures, working at the Wizenmagot and such, on top of my challenges," Ollivander stated. Harry bit his lip.

"Was I not supposed to?" He asked. Ollivander snorted.

"Nonsense, of course you were. You must enjoy yourself, enjoy your life, or how else can the wands find joy, hmm."

"What next?" Harry asked with a grin. Ollivander grinned back.

"Next you must find and live with the Elves of Sa'Raim for a year and a day."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He thought he'd heard Ron talking about them: a race hidden away from the ugliness of the world because they were too pure and beautiful to survive within it.

"Thank you," he said, and left the shop.

Six years and a day later Harry stood in Ollivander's shop. His arms were crossed, and his foot tapped against the floor impatiently. He was dressed in a woollen robe of earthy tones, and a pendant hung around his neck, shimmering silver and gold chains interlinking. Ollivander appeared, and raised a brow.

"I see you found them, and they saw fit to provide you with gifts."

"That's not why I'm here," Harry said.

"No," Ollivander replied. "I suppose not."

"Were you ever going to tell me that only Forest Dryads could make wands, and it's something they learn from birth? The elves saw fit to enlighten me."

Ollivander's mouth twitched into half a smirk.

"What do you see when you look at me? Hmm? A human. An elderly, eccentric man who makes wands. And what do you imagine others would see if they knew that I wasn't? The entire British Wizarding World depends of me for their wands. Wizards can barely reconcile themselves with transformed versions of that which they once were, werewolves and such. The fact that I, and all Dryads still exist, let alone are the sole wand makers of the world is a closely guarded secret. So I think you can understand why I might not give that away to the first green eyed youth through my door."

Harry sagged, the fight taken out of him. Then he laughed. "You're a bastard, you know." But there was a smile upon his lips.

Ollivander shrugged.

"Technically not," Ollivander said. "And I believe there is a curious saying that muggles use: when pigs fly. When I told you to build the best broom on the market, I may as well have been telling you the same!"

Harry sighed and covered his face with his palm.

"How was I meant to know that?" he mumbled. Ollivander chuckled.

"Not my fault that you lack an understanding of wizarding idioms…but I suppose that a slight miscommunication occurred, regardless. After all, the sign in the window only asked for an assistant, not an apprentice. I am getting old. I wanted someone to man the shop on the weekends."

Harry groaned. "I'm an idiot."

"Most people are," Ollivander agreed. Harry rolled his eyes. "But Mr Potter. Think about what you've done, what you've learnt. Can you honestly say you regret it? You are a man perpetually looking for your next great adventure. I know, I know, not with the Aurors, but you can't deny you love the thrill of doing that which so few have done before." Harry's lips were reluctantly tugged back into a smile.

"You sound just like Hermione."

Ollivander raised a brow and smirked. "An excellent young witch. What a splendid compliment."

Harry snorted.

"Alright. I'm off to tell my best friends what I've actually been up to these last eighteen years." Ollivander smiled, eyes bright like the moon, and Harry could see how he might be part elf.

"Thank you," Harry said, although he wasn't quite sure what for, and left the shop.

Ollivander hummed aloud, watching Harry Potter walk away, his magic shining brightly. "My pleasure, as always," he murmured to himself, and returned to crafting his wands.


End file.
